


down to the last bite

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bastille Scene, Crepes, Flirting, Gift Fic, M/M, erotic flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Crowley blames the shoes. The crepes may have some responsibility but the shoes started it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58
Collections: Holly Jolly July: a Good Omens Gift Exchange





	down to the last bite

**Author's Note:**

> Holly Jolly July gift exchange! This is for EdnaV who asked for something Bastille related.
> 
> Huge thanks to chewb for catching my many mistakes before posting, and to evening starcatcher for all her work organizing this amazing event.

It was those damn shoes, Crowley decided. The pink, smooth, delicate little shoes that were halo shiny, perched so neatly in the muck and grime and not at all covered with a spot of it.

Those damn shoes. They had no business highlighting the angel’s ankles, the way that he sat perched just so on the stool, surrounded by nastiness but separate. And then those pastel tights– the way they teased at his skin tone, at the muscles and luscious skin hidden below.

The contrast, that was what it was. The way his wrists were emphasized with all that frill, but then his knuckles, perfectly manicured fingers flashing here and there as he moved. The cravat, and how Crowley’s own long, less fancy fingers longed to tangle in it.

And the hair! Soft, cloudy hair, parted in a way Crowley hadn’t seen in all the years of knowing– it changed his familiar, loved face into something that Crowley had trouble tearing his gaze from– which was something he struggled with anyways but today was even harder.

Sitting across the table from the angel, no longer in his soft, glowy outfit, his mind kept flashing back to it, to the details. The layers of fabric the demon wanted nothing more than to just sink his fingers into, tug and pull and twist until he could see that somewhat perfect outfit crumpled and find the absolute perfection of the angel’s delectable skin, sink into that nebulous body, twist around wrists and ankles, joints and angles, touch every part of him…

Across the table, Aziraphale took another just so bite, closing his eyes as the cut of crepe touched his tongue, closing his teeth so delicately around it and pulling the fork clear as he savored it.

Would he savor Crowley like that? Oh, Crowley wished he would.

There had been a moment when he had thought it possible; he could see Aziraphale lighten up, his name exclaimed with such delight, only for the angel to turn and his face to shut down, go from pure joy to flat. Crowley had felt a surge of desire to stand up, close that infernal space between them and see what he needed to do to reverse that.

This was fine though, sitting in a little dim diner, watching the facial journeys across from him as each tastebud sampled the Parisian delight. Each pull of his cheek, each hum of pleasure, each tender swallow made Crowley’s heart beat– was cataloged and stored to pull out on those decades where they did not line up assignments and time.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, licking his lips to get all the sugar and jam off, and smiled brightly at his lunch date as he so carefully cut the next piece. “Care for a bite?” A fork was held out to him, and without thinking, Crowley leaned forward and opened his mouth.

The angel flushed, but he lifted a hand to hover under the fork and met in the middle. Crowley let him place the tines on his lips, and then his tongue was out, curling around the slice and pulling it in. Aziraphale let out a little sound and Crowley smirked, chewing in a showier way than he needed to, before swallowing it down. “Not bad.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, and Crowley raised an eyebrow. The angel’s gaze burned hot on Crowley’s mouth…

Interesting. Crowley could work with this.

Long fingers moved to Aziraphale’s hand and took the fork from him. The fork then dipped into the crepes again, and another slice was ready. But instead of repeating the pattern, Crowley left the fork to wait, and picked up the piece by hand, caught between his pointer and index, and held it out for Aziraphale. “More your taste, though, really.”

The angel’s flush was probably halfway to his naval by now, that was a great mental image. His eyes darted between Crowley’s fingers and face. “You’re going to get sticky!”

Lithe shoulders shrugged. “Sticky can be fun.” The demon hoped he hadn’t oversold this. But then…

Eyes firmly on Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale took a deep breath and leaned forward, his adorable mouth opening. Heart stuttering in his chest, Crowley moved. So close, a soft puff of air, and then the silky lips were beneath his fingers. Straight teeth came down and gently took ahold of the pastry, with just the barest graze against Crowley’s fingers, and then they were separating, Aziraphale sitting back to chew, and Crowley watching him with even more intensity, hand aflame.

That biteable throat pulsed, and Aziraphale met Crowley’s flushed eyes with his own. Time could have stopped again, Crowley would never have known. Then Aziraphale leaned forward, mouth parting.

Crowley could do this. He could cut each bite for Aziraphale, feed him by hand, feel lips and tongue and teeth, keep himself in control to please Aziraphale, keep his eyes open to burn the image of Aziraphale’s mouth on him into his soul.

“Last bite.” Crowley rasped out, taking care to make sure to swipe up the rest of the cream, sugar, and jam before he held it up. “Careful, don’t want you to get all messy.”

Aziraphale huffed at that, but once again leaned forward. This time, he closed his mouth entirely around the slice then  _ pulled _ it off, letting his tongue and teeth scrape over his fingers. There was a roaring in Crowley’s ears, an inferno in his body. Aziraphale pulled back just enough to keep his lips touching Crowley, eyes fixed hard on the demon’s mouth. “Don’t want you to be messy either. Fair’s fair, and all that.” His breath chilled across the wet fingers, and then he was licking and sucking the remnants of crepes from Crowley’s hand.

Crooking his fingers, because Crowley had never met a line he won’t straddle, resulted in Aziraphale letting out a soft sound, not a moan but more than a sigh, and swallowing against them, tongue firm and supple.

Finally Aziraphale pulled back, the popping sound obscene and delicious echoing around them, and smiled.

Crowley took a large gulp of wine. “Good lunch?” He not so nervously wondered if Aziraphale would mind if he just sucked his own fingers, finding the taste of the angel and swallowing it down.

“The best.” Then there was that small dip of his chin, the lashes fluttering down and up like a damn breeze. “I’ll have to return the favor next time.”

Propping his head upon his wet hand, Crowley drawled out, “I’ll keep that in mind, angel.”


End file.
